


night calls

by colferstilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Boypussy, Exhibitionism, Fingerfucking, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Riding, Squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1268710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colferstilinski/pseuds/colferstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles may be deliriously out of his mind <i>bored.</i> No, scratch that, he <i>is.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	night calls

**Author's Note:**

> Basically boypussy strafes away from all transgendered topics. Stiles is /not/ biologically female and identifies himself as a male. He /is/ a dude who just so happens to have biological female parts. It's all fictitious, there's no such thing in real life. Boypussies also /do/ have sub-categories, having just the female genitalia is not the only boypussy. There's no right or wrong types of boypussy, if it's your kink, it's yours. No harm, no foul. Boypussies include: Male with both female/male genitalia. Male with both female/male genitalia and also has the prostate/g-spot. Male with both female/male genitalia but only has a prostate. Male with both female/male genitalia but only has a g-spot. Or male with only female genitalia. Or male with female genitalia and prostate.
> 
> Really, anything goes with boypussies. If it gets you all hot and bothered in your loins, then you've found your type of boypussy!
> 
>  **NOTE** : Terribly not skimmed through at all. So, there's bound to be plenty of spelling/grammar/literally any type of mistakes.

Stiles may be deliriously out of his mind _bored._ No, scratch that, he _is._

It’s late. The pink smidge of clouds have long been swallowed down by the blacks of night, only favouring the dull shades of speeding orange tail lights as they bustle on the express lane. They all have one common goal, though—to make the drive back to California before its half ass o’clock.

Not that it isn’t butt crack a.m. right now.

This is definitely not how Stiles pictured spending his last weekend before college break ends. Routinely, he’d usually be wrecking on his play station, yelling out some foul language into his head piece while horrible gameplay commences on his weekly chosen first person shooter with Scott, but _nooo._

His friends decided that going to Las Vegas for the weekend was a better idea than becoming one with the pizza crumbs left on his bed.

Stiles isn’t saying that the trip wasn’t brilliant, but… _it wasn’t_. He’d much prefer on becoming the first mouldy person than this. At least that’s a guarantee hot hit on reddit or something. This, though? It’s just, ugh.

That’s his emotions summed up in one condescending note— _ugh._

All of them simply hung out in their shitty hotel with even crappier room service during the entire weekend. Stiles is also pretty certain that it was a lizard’s tail in his corn soup that first night. Even clumpy soup paste doesn’t look like that. Sure, they saw the occasional strippers (across the street of their hotel, entering some shady ass club at the corner they got kicked out) and gorgeous poker ships (a dollar novelty souvenir at the gift store), but that was mostly it.

Their so-called life changing Vegas experience.

What a fucking let down.

Also, Stiles has seen plenty of ‘Welcome to Vegas’ signs which only leads to a quelling annoyance inside him. Like, okay. He gets it, alright? They’re in fucking Vegas. He doesn’t need a reminder every few miles. What? Between this strip joint and the next casino, he’d momentarily forgotten where he was and decided that he’s in Washington?

Yeah, _no._

So, annoyance with a mixture of restlessness becomes a very fidgety and bored Stiles.

Everyone’s mostly asleep on the bus now. Scott is snoring a storm up and it’s been tempting Stiles the past twenty minutes to shove one of his rank socks into his mouth, probably also doing Isaac one up with the drool situation happening on his shirt. Stiles doesn’t because that means being a good person for Isaac which, yeah, the guy ruined one of his shirts this weekend by spilling cheap Slurpee on it.

Consider it being even.

Allison and Lydia are all cozied up on the seat directly behind them and Stiles wants to join in with them—hey, girl power and all, right? But he’s certain that Lydia may bash his head in if he tries to shimmy in between them because Lydia? Not a morning person. Or nice. Just evil, really.

He’s had close encounters during the past weekend and Stiles really likes not having his brain matter being exposed.

The only person left is Derek—who is decidedly not asleep, apparently when Stiles chances a look around discreetly. Well, he also discreetly tries to cover up the yelp he makes when his knee bangs against the panel of the seat in front of him.

What’s that saying?

When you’re dealt with shit cards, have a poop party? Or something like that. Whatever.

Stiles straightens out his legs and then frumps awkwardly to the back of the bus. He’s wary of where his hands dart out to balance on the poles of the bus before he quickly slides to the empty right side of the booth. Derek’s still consumed in his book.

He flops down onto the seat, making minimal noise while his arms follow choppily.

“Yo,” Stiles starts as a peace offering. “It’s two in the morning.”

Derek jostles out a noise, still not looking up while his fingers continue to stretch across the spine of the book. It’s a title that Stiles has never come across before. So, romance then. Or something boring like an autobiography.

Stiles is a sci-fi fantasy person, okay? Don’t judge.

“Nice deduction. What clued you in? A watch?”

“ _Psh_ ,” Stiles chuffs. “Like anyone wears watches anymore. Siri tells me everything now. Y’know, Apple Technology? It’s the shit, apparently.”

Derek scoffs, though it sounds more like a miffed laugh. “ _Ah_. Technology. Back in my day, we had this thing called a sun dial. Now that, _that_ was transformative. I am a changed man because of that.”

Stiles wheezes out a laugh. It’s not a nice sound. Quite embarrassing, actually. “Well, at least Vegas did you some good. Got you cracking jokes past your bedtime.”

Derek finally drags his eyes off the pages, shadows casting faintly over the top of his brow bone, making his narrowing stare twice as intense as it normally is. “Yeah, I am a true comedian. Its fifty bucks an hour. _Now_ , what can I do you for, Stiles? Because I’d really like to read in peace.”

Stiles sighs, waves his hands around. “Oh, no. You can continue on your task of ignoring me. I don’t take offense. I’m just bored. Figured the only person awake could be some source of less boredom-esque activity.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Despite of my earlier statement, you do _know_ that I’m not a legitimate entertainer, right?”

Stiles mock swoons, “If only.” He scoots a little closer. “Whatcha reading there, anyway?”

Derek glances down then looks up, saying. “A book.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Stiles gapes, running fingers down his hair to rustle them a bit. Derek is feisty at midnight. He likes it, a lot. He’s always been accosted with a Derek that’s all snarls and what’s not but getting to know this side—dialled down and unguarded. It’s nice. “For a second there, I thought you were trying to be on par with the latest Hollywood gossip. You got me there, Derek.”

Derek shoots him an irritated smile, all teeth and dull eyes. Stiles has received plenty of them in the past few months. It’s almost his second default face. First being the glaring eyebrows, of course. “That’s me. An element of surprise. Can I return to my book now?”

Stiles shoots him a go-ahead wave, “Sure, sure. I’ll just—” He flails at the window. “—look outside. Maybe count how many signs we pass. Or the stars. We’ll see.”

Derek grunts, ducking his head back down. “Sounds like fun.”

It’s less than ten minutes of soft breaths mingling in between the shared quiet before Stiles feels the prickle of restlessness biting at the edges again. He starts to drum fingertips on his lap, some bastardized beat from a bad pop song until Derek gets annoyed by it.

“ _Stop that_.” Derek hisses, glaring at him.

Stiles squawks out and then tries to swallow the sound into the hollow of his cheeks. He hears Scott sniffling but nobody’s awaken from the abrupt noise. “Jesus. Shit. You’re gonna get me to have a cardiac arrest before I turn twenty-five. That’s not cool.”

Derek’s stare intensifies, “If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll make sure you get one before we reach California.”

A chuckle escapes him. What? Its half past two in the morning and apparently, threats are funny to him at this hour. He blames the lack of fresh oxygen in his brain. “Is that a promise? Or are you just calling bluff to make quit it?”

Derek blows out a long, insufferable breath and paws at his scruffy jaw. “You were much tolerable when you were scared of me.”

Stiles frowns, “Hey! I was never scared of you. Sure, there were times when Scott and I thought you were a mass murderer rapist but those were dark times.”

Derek looks at him, unrelenting.

“Fine,” He makes a peeved noise. “ _I_ thought you were a mass murdering rapist but, like I said. Dark times. I slept with my night light on for months. Now, though, we’re like, buddies, aren’t we? Bros? Homies?”

Derek shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am _embarrassed_ for you.”

“Or like the great British says it,” Stiles continues, ignoring Derek. “We’re _mates._ A devilishly handsome chap with ye’ ordinary bloke. I am the handsome one, of course.”

Derek chokes out a laugh as he puts the book down beside him. “Don’t hurt yourself kid.”

There’s a small grin tilting at the corners of his mouth, unforced, and Stiles is quite pleased with that. It’s a life goal of his to make everyone around him attempt a smile and getting Derek _freaking_ Hale to do just that? Yeah, achievement. He may ride this high for a long ass time.

Stiles shares a smile before he lunges over the empty space between them, darting out to grab the book. “Let’s see what you’re reading. You’re always so mysterious with your book collection.” Derek makes a feeble attempt to snatch it back but Stiles’ already skimming through the summary at the back. “ _Ooh._ Sounds interesting. Wait—is this…”

Derek makes a pained groan sound. “ _Don’t_.”

Stiles already has the giggles setting in, “You’re reading erotica!”

“Fucking quieten down,” Derek says haughtily, totally pouting as he crosses his arms. Oh man. Stiles takes it back. Vegas? _Awesome._ Fine, they’re not necessarily in Vegas but, y’know what? He’s feeling like a million bucks and that’s totally Vegas.

Stiles starts to narrate the summary out loud despite Derek trying to telekinesis his misery onto Stiles. “Andrew is a young, talented man from the harvesting city of New York with a penchant of tricks up his sleeves. He teases, and smirks, and fucks his way through upper socialites to get his name out there. Will this be a cause for disaster? Or, will the reveal of his biggest secret taint his name? Jesus— _oh my god_.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Derek snips bitingly.

There are tears welling up at the corner of Stiles’ eyes from trying his best on not bursting out in laughter at Derek’s general face. He wipes his eyes against his forearm, still trying to stave away the last few chortles.

“What—what is his, oh man, I can’t fucking _breathe_ —his biggest secret?”

Derek grunts unintelligibly under his breath.

Stiles nudges him with an elbow against his side, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Hale. What was that?”

“He has a vagina.” Derek bites out, looking quite done with this entire conversation, or just the general vicinity of Stiles. “Now, fuck off and go back to your own seat. I don’t need to take this shit. So _what?_ I like lit erotica. It’s not funny at all so quit it.”

Stiles cracks out a silent laugh. It’s mostly wet wheezing noises. “People actually still call it Lit Erotica? It’s porn. _Smut._ Keep up to date, Derek, or I might lose you to the stone ages.”

“Fine,” He bristles, a snarl at the edge of his voice. “Smut. Whatever. Just—leave me alone.”

If Stiles hasn’t been around Derek for the past two years, he’d probably fuck off by now from the cold bite of his tone, but Stiles _knows_ him. Kind of. He knows when the anger and glaring eyebrows become a defence mechanism. Same goes with Stiles’ extremely charming sarcastic nature.

“Nah,” Stiles brushes off. “I’m actually interested in the story now. Tell me what Andrew is like? Is he like a seductress or something?”

Derek groans, probably considering the ways to dispose his body without having his dad (who’s Sheriff, by the way) clue him in as prime suspect. “Fucking hell, Stiles. Let me pull one off in peace, will you?”

“You’re gonna—” Stiles meeps, blinking owlishly at him. “— _here?_ ”

“It was the grand idea, yes.” Derek snips out.

Stiles’ eyes may have accidentally tracked down to chance a look at Derek’s crotch and there might be a slight bulge evident, burning fire into his retinas. It could be the bunching of Derek’s jeans but Stiles prefers the idea of a semi chub hiding behind that bulge.

“Oh.” Stiles mutters, licking his lips subconsciously. “Uh… I should make myself scarce, then? I mean, I wouldn’t want to intrude on something of grandeur level.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek roughs out, patience waning.

“Yes. Present.” He answers lowly and tears his eyes away from Derek’s crotch. It’s hypnotizing. He’s being dick-matized. “It’s just—well, I can relate to Andrew.”

Derek huffs, squirms a little on his seat while his hand hovers above his thigh. It looks like he wants to adjust himself but because of present company, he has to settle with such meagre pleasantries.

“So, you’ve fucked snobby country club men then?”

Stiles cocks his head at him, “Interesting plot.” He hums. “But, no. I mean, in the—y’know. Genitalia area.”

Derek slowly drags his eyes down while Stiles tracks them, witnesses the way that Derek scopes over the breadth of his shoulders, onto his slightly heaving chest and down where it stops at his own crotch. Derek’s looking at his crotch. Heatedly, if he may add.

Jesus, he needs to fan himself. Or, probably be less obvious with his breath pulling shallowly.

“That so?” Derek rasps, eyes finally glinting up towards Stiles. They’re dark, the normal light greens and yellows have been eaten out by the black of his pupils. Stiles feels all the air inside his chest has been sucked out with that look.

Stiles mutely nods his head, “Ye _p._ Got the whole, uh, pussy thing.”

“I see.” Derek finally says sagely, awkwardly coughing. “Well, that’s, um. Nice.” He quickly corrects himself. “For you, I mean.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Stiles chirps and maybe he’s teasing a little. Just a bit. He totally can pull off Andrew if he wants. “I’ve done plenty of research on a penis, y’know, foreskin and all that, and there are days where I’d love to have a go with having a dick but _man,_ multiple orgasms. That’s the selling point for me, really.”

Derek gulps thickly, veins straining at the side of his neck and beads of sweat are starting to form at his temples. “Really? Are they really that good?”

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles croons lowly, eyelashes fluttering. He twists his fingers into the hem of his shirt, “Being that overly stimulated and just—coming minute after minute? Never really catching your breath? Nothing beats it.”

Derek blows out a breath shakily, nails digging into his thigh. “How many times have you come before? Like, before you can’t anymore?”

“The most?” Stiles considers while also holding back his slight freak out that he’s actually sharing masturbatory stories with Derek. Although one-sided, but hey. “Probably, uh… four times? Got myself to gush at the end and had to stop because I was shaking all over.”

Derek inhales tightly before he mutters a low, “ _Fuck it_ ,” and goes to palm at his bulge, letting out a quiet groan, eyes fluttering shut as he soothes the pressure against the strained zipper. “Christ, you can squirt? That’s so—”

Stiles scoots an inch closer to him, closing the mere gap until their thighs bump against each other. Derek slowly peeks his eyes open from the movement and yeah, Stiles can finally say that the come hither look actually _do_ exist outside of bad porn because Derek is totally pulling it on him. Well, it’s less come hither and more please sit on my face look.

“Yeah, sometimes.” Stiles murmurs, edges the book off onto the ground. “Gotta work up to it, though. Get myself really sore and wet until I can’t take it anymore.”

Derek pushes a groan to the sharp edge of Stiles’ shoulder, “ _Fuck_. I wanna— _god_ , can I touch you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles gusts out shakily. “Yes, touch whatever. Permission granted.”

Derek twists his body slightly so that he’s angled to him and then slowly darts out a hand to place low at his waist, gripping with a firm pressure. “Alright?” He asks softly, his breath mingling warmly against his upper lip.

They’re so close, mere inches apart that Stiles can almost taste Derek’s natural scent against his tongue. He sort of wants to jump him—in a sexy way, not the _I-want-your-money-gimme_ kind, so he does because he lacks shame.

Stiles hooks his thumb under Derek’s jaw, curling fingers to the back of his neck and feels soft, wispy strands of hair tickling against his knuckles as he leans in. He presses a chaste peck against Derek’s chapped lips, a fleeting brush and he’s not being shoved off the seat so Stiles takes that as a good thing. His confidence soars a little.

He goes for one more but lingers this time, moving his lips accordingly until they slot with Derek’s. The hand at his waist tightens lightly that it makes a warm shudder burn against the length of his spine, spinning low with arousal. Derek doesn’t let him up from that second kiss; instead he pushes into Stiles’ personal space even more, an intent pressure firm against his lips.

It wrecks a groan out from him but it goes muffled in between laboured breaths and the soft smack of lips as they separate. Derek dives back in for more though, an exhale to the next in, swoops Stiles’ body closer to him and experimentally darts his tongue out to swipe against Stiles’ bottom lip.

That warm, wetting lick sends a blitz of heat curling at the base of Stiles’ stomach that he reaches out to wrangle more of Derek’s hair into his fingers, fisting it as they finally both go all in for a proper kiss.

It heats Stiles from the inside out, burning embers of arousal like the times he edged himself while watching his favourite porn video on loop. Derek also kisses like how he does anything else—with no fucks to give. Their teeth clatter from time to time and it only makes Stiles lick a smile into the corner of Derek’s mouth, licking the faint taste of cherry soda they had for dinner while Derek simply takes, and takes.

Derek’s hand on his waist starts to edge around, too. His fingers peek under the hem of his shirt and finally splay them against the radiating heat of Stiles’ skin, brushing against the slow jump of his stomach before he’s chuckling out, “Ticklish.”

“Sorry,” Derek mutters out, not sounding very apologetic at all. He skims his hand against the shallow dip of Stiles’ bellybutton before he whispers against his cheek. “Can’t believe I spent two years tryin’ my best not to touch you. Fucking jailbait, you were.”

“Two _years?_ ” Stiles chokes out and then arches into Derek’s touch with a raspy groan when the asshole scratches a trail of heat on his abdomen, the bite of pain and pleasure fading away in throbs. “What—fuck?”

“Yeah,” Derek hoarsely rumbles. “Guess that’s going down the drain since I’m touching you in the back of some cheap bus with all your friends asleep a few steps away. You can keep quiet, can’t you?”

“Me? _Quiet?_ ” Stiles huffs, the challenge rising in his blood. “Easy task, man.”

“Good.” Derek grunts, nosing his way down to Stiles’ neck while his days old stubble scrapes against the thin skin behind his ear. Stiles absolutely does not make a sound. “Cause I wanna fuck you till you gush all over my thighs. Here. Have you wet and stinking the back of the bus with your pussy juice.”

“Fuck, you can’t just say shit like that, asshole.”

Derek nips at the skin, teething at it until Stiles is pretty certain it’s going to cause a mark when the sun splashes across the horizon. Stiles is starting to feel a little light headed, overwhelmed, as he’s finally being touched by his _ultimate_ crush (not that he’d admit that out loud, he likes his dignity) and just—he fucking loves Vegas.

His hand is suddenly being grasped by Derek’s other free hand and slowly being dragged across, placed on Derek’s lap, in between the crease where thigh meets crotch.

“You can touch too, you know? I don’t mind.” Derek rasps.

Stiles feebly nods his head and tries not to make out the stuttering moan edging at the tip of his tongue when Derek returns to suck on his neck again, sucking the thin flesh until it bruises. It’s almost like there’s a direct connection from the nerve endings at his neck to the nub of his clit, grazing waves of pooling heat until he’s certain that his boxer briefs are sticky with slick at the center.

He goes to cup his hand against Derek’s bulge and absolutely does not murmur a reverent praise to higher deities because Derek’s clothed cock is under his palm. It twitches in staccato beats, strained against the zipper and he’s definitely not packing socks in there because it radiates flesh heat through the denim.

Derek muffles a grunt into his neck when Stiles finally squeezes onto the curve of his shaft. “Shit. These jeans are killing me.”

“You could, uh, take ‘em off?” Stiles tries, leaning back and finally catching his breath. His cheeks are probably flushed, eyes red-rimmed from having them closed for too long. “I mean, I don’t think it’s a possible task to fuck me through denim.”

Derek seems to agree with him because he goes to pop the button off his jeans with an expert flick of his wrist, dragging the zipper down with a sensual type of ease in his movement. A soft grunt escapes him when his cock finally gets freed, thwacks heavily against his abdomen—and _Christ._

The bulge lied. He’s definitely well endowed. Not scarily, though. Probably a good sizable seven inches, maybe seven and a half if he tugs his foreskin back but it’s well enough to graze against all the good parts inside the shallow of his cunt.

Stiles hopes to mirror that raw sensuality Derek possesses as he works his own pants off but fails miserably as one of the pant leg gets stuck mid-thigh and he issues a mild tug of war with it before Derek goes to help him. He strips it off with a fluid action, and Stiles is left in his bright green boxer briefs, pants pooled around his ankles.

“You’ve got to teach me that.” Stiles jokes as he kicks his pants off before slumping back down onto the seat.

“Take your underwear off, Stiles. I wanna see.” He says softly.

So, Stiles does.

He’s pretty certain that if Derek asks him to roll over, he would. In a heartbeat. He’s that turned on. Stiles slowly pushes his briefs off, arching his body rightly away from the seat so he could pull it off without actually standing up.

Derek’s eyes are intent on him during the whole process, darting to the dusting of pubic hair at his mound settled in between his thighs and up to the bruising of his neck, all the while tugging on his cock with a firm grip, head sheened with pre-come. He must _really_ be into Stiles, or his making out abilities must be a full tenner if he’s gotten a guy as hot as Derek to be _this_ hard.

“C’mere,” Derek finally murmurs, voice sounding a little rough at the edges. He hooks an arm around Stiles’ waist and drags him over to his lap. A weak squawk leaves him when he’s finally upright, settling on Derek’s thighs, pussy hovering a few inches away from his cock. “Remember, you gotta stay quiet.”

Stiles mimes zipping his lips and tosses the imaginary key behind his shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re pretty like this.” Derek mutters out, quite reverently as he skims his hand on Stiles’ waist, pooling them to the back until the clutch onto the globes of his ass cheeks. “Gotta admit, though, when I’m usually beating one off, I always thought you’d have a nice, pink cock slotted in between your legs.”

Stiles frowns, edges away slightly. “I’m, uh— _sorry_? That I don’t have that part. Or, not very sorry since, y’know. I’ve had my vagina since I was born.”

“Don’t be,” Derek corrects quickly. “I don’t want you to be sorry at all. I love it. God, nothing gets me to cream as fast whenever I watch pretty boys displaying their pussies on porn. Right now? You’re a wet dream, Stiles. On my lap—” He swipes two fingers in between the folds of his cunt, just a tease. “—fucking _soaking,_ god. Better than my entire jack off fantasies.”

Stiles huffs his chest out a little bit. _What?_ He loves receiving compliments. Also, it doesn’t hurt being called sexy by someone who _oozes_ sex appeal on a daily basis. It’s a huge ego boost—his head is definitely rocketing out of the bus at the moment.

“You’re not too bad yourself, big guy.” Stiles teases, thumbing at the back of Derek’s cockhead.

Derek jerks up to the faint touch, hissing a little. “Wanna make you come once before you sit on my cock. That okay?”

“Oh—uh, definitely. Yeah, definitely okay.” He stutters out, fumbling a little.

Derek grips onto his cock and fucks shallowly into it a few strokes as he asks Stiles to lift up a little, which he does (because he’s being a total pup right now) and then it looks like Derek’s lining his cock up to his pussy but when he sinks down, his dick lays against the spread of his ass cheeks.

Oh, wow.

Derek grins up at him, almost knowing of what Stiles was thinking just seconds before. “I won’t go back down on my promise. I said I’m gonna make you come first and I will.”

Stiles rasps out a shaky chuckle against Derek’s cheek, “Confident, aren’t you? You do know the statistics of men who tries to get woman to orgasm but fail to do so, right? It’s pretty high.”

“But you’re not a woman, are you?” Derek challenges back, cocky and sure as he slowly traces fingertips from Stiles’ nipples down to his hips. “Nah, you just got yourself a nice cunt, but elsewhere, you’re all boy. So, yes, definitely confident.”

Apparently smug bastards are his thing since he feels his pussy throbbing with a fresh spurt of slick. Stiles angles his head down to press a haphazard kiss of center of Derek’s mouth, retaining his rhetoric answer at the back of his throat while their lips slowly wet with the drag and slide of saliva.

Meanwhile, Derek snakes an arm around his waist and his achingly ghosts down the dip of his back, curving to meet the slope of his ass before he teases his way in, slotting in between his ass crack that’s probably pooling sweat. He lingers down to the wrinkled skin of his asshole, rubs his thumb against the hole, whispering, “Next time, I’ll wreck your pretty little ass, too.”

Stiles squeaks out, “There’s gonna be a next time? What? No wine and dine for Stiles?”

“I’ll hold your hand through the next Avengers movie if need be.” Derek answers liltingly.

“Good, because I shall not succumb to be anything else but classy.” Stiles replies only for the edges of his voice to pull out into a shaky moan when Derek dips two fingers in between the folds of his pussy from behind.

Stiles has never tried fingering himself from behind before. Sure, he’s been on hand and knees or fucked his fingers in while being vertical when he’s in the shower but, this position? Never. He’s never got the angle down perfectly; always either getting himself cramped up before getting anywhere good or his back starts to ache from twisting it to an odd degree.

Derek murmurs against his cheek, “Fuck, I can smell your cunt right now and you haven’t even come yet.”

Stiles bats at him weakly, eyes starting to wet from where Derek’s fingers are just teasingly grazing against his swollen labia. “Are you tryin’ to tell me that my vagina has an odour? Because, not cool, bro.”

“Quit putting words into my mouth.” Derek retorts back. “You smell good. Better than any other that I’ve come across.”

Stiles mock swoons, “You’re so sweet.”

Derek apparently took that as a jab (well, it kind of was) and fucks two of his fingers into Stiles’ pussy without much warning. Stiles tries to quell the guttural groan that begs to leave the back of his throat because he knows how he gets when he gets filled the first time—the stretch of the thin skin around his entrance just welcoming the fullness while the shallow insides of his pussy moulds to shape of whatever’s fitting inside him—he always gets a little too loud.

The sound that eventually escapes him comes off as a weak sounding whine, his ears buzzing and tapering off that humiliating note. “Fuck—fuck. You can’t just—oh my _god_.”

“What were you saying again?” Derek teases, finger fucking him with an expertise that Stiles is almost certain he does it for a job.

“Don’t you dare stop or I’m gonna—” Stiles breaks off into a shaky moan, grinding his hips back down onto Derek’s fingers. He feels the shift of Derek’s cock bumping against his ass with each movement, feels the smooth head slicking trails of pre-come against the low curve of his cheeks.

“Fuck, you’re good at this.” He mutters out, hands gripping onto Derek’s shoulder for balance.

Derek smirks, “This is just a warm up, but you gotta keep quiet, babe.” He slips his fingers out for a second, spreading slick across the drying folds before he slides them back, twisting them just rightly that it burns heat low at his spine. “Don’t want Scott waking up and seeing you riding on my cock, do you?”

“No—definitely not.” Stiles stumbles out, mouth gaping open as he sucks shallowly for air.

“Can’t wait till we get you on a bed, all spread out.” Derek whispers and then slips his thumb back against Stiles’ asshole, just presses the faintest of pressure against the ring.

“Yeah? What you gonna do, Derek? Eat me out?”

“More than that.” Derek starts and there’s sweat rolling down his forehead which Stiles kindly wipes it away with his cheek. He’s polite, that’s what he is. “Wanna fuck you with my tongue, taste how that sweet pussy feels like inside. All heat and slick— _god_ , bet you’d taste as good as you smell too.”

Stiles grins wobbly and goes to cup his own sex, moulding his palm against his pubic mound while he gathers the lubrication wetting at the folds before he drags his hand back up. “Taste tester, then?”

Derek’s eyes darken, glinting under the flicker of dashing street lamps. He leans forward and suckles both of Stiles’ fingers into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he flicks his tongue against the tips of his fingers, licking any residual slick that lingers onto them. The rumbling vibrations that Derek makes marrow through the bed of his nails, twisting fiery heat up his arms and flushing his skin pink.

He pops them off, darting his tongue out to lick it once more while he looks Stiles dead in the eye. “Was right, then. All sweetened with a salty bite of boy sweat.”

Stiles groans, tossing his head back when Derek twists his fingers, pressing up against the swelling bundle in his cunt before he scissors them apart and repeats it. He’s getting close too quickly—he’s known for his stamina but Derek is making him lose it all on his thigh. At least his confidence wasn’t faked.

“God—I’m close, Derek.” He bites out, fisting his hand into Derek’s hair and pulling on it.

Derek’s relentless in the next few seconds and he’s not even paying attention to his clit (which is usually the game point for him during masturbation). All he’s doing is paying a balanced amount of attention between the pressure of two fingers filling up Stiles’ cunt and Derek’s thumb swirling circles against the pucker of his wrinkled asshole.

He only loses it when Derek edges his thumb into his asshole, just the slight tip but Stiles feels his muscles tightening up at that intrusion that makes him finally comes.

Stiles grapples clumsily at Derek’s shoulders, breath halting as he rides out the high while his cunt throbs with the wave of his orgasm, slicking around Derek’s fingers even more. “Fuck—fuck, _shit_. Derek. Please, _please._ Oh god.”

Derek gently slip his fingers out from him while Stiles catches his breath, swallowing in lungful’s of air while his heart seems to be ricocheting out his chest, forehead dripping with sweat. He feels painfully spent already and apparently, it was just a warm up for Derek. His pussy is already starting to ache from the raw emptiness that Derek left it at.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you come.” Derek says observantly. “And those noises you make? Made me almost wanna cream against your ass.”

Stiles moans out weakly, almost whining. “Please— _just,_ fuck me. Now? Want you inside me.” He doesn’t say he’s aching—or that it feels too hollow without Derek’s fingers inside but he thinks the message is being sent across by telekinesis.

Derek obliges with it and darts his hand in between the gap of Stiles’ thighs to grip at his cock and lines his dick up in between the folds of his pussy. He rubs them against the blood engorged lips, ruts up against the swollen nub of his clit several times before he starts to press it against his entrance.

Stiles croaks out a low gasp because it’s definitely—more, a tighter fit from the previous two fingers that Derek was fucking him with—he knows that. But, to welcome that sudden fullness, the way his cunt starts to envelope around Derek’s prick, all smooth skin but rightly stiff against the wet walls of his pussy.

“ _Fuck_. Stiles, you’re so fucking wet.” Derek grunts out once he starts to bottom out inside Stiles, balls almost pressed against the low slope of Stiles’ ass. God, they’re actually fucking at the back of a bus with his closest friends’ just mere feet away from them. Vegas has totally changed him—probably for the better too.

“Feel so full,” Stiles rambles, jittery and his breaths are starting to labour again. “So good. Never had a cock to fill me so well—fuck. Please, move, Derek.”

Derek pulls out a little, just an inch or two before he ruts up and Stiles has to bite onto his bottom lips to stop himself from crying out how good it feels. His pussy is throbbing in staccato tandem with each fuck up and Derek’s cock soothes all the untouched parts of his pussy that his fingers had missed out previously, brushing deliberately onto that tightening swell in his cunt that burns pleasure down to the tip of his toes.

His thighs are starting to burn from where they’re being bracketed around Derek’s legs but the pain quickly diminishes when Derek starts to murmur out a litany of sinful dirty words against his ear. It’s all, “God, Stiles, wanna wreck your pussy all day. I don’t ever wanna leave. Wanna stay soft inside you until my come flows out the lips of your cunt. Wanna do it once we’re back in California.” Or, “Can I do that? Cream deep inside you? Have my load burning white into the pinks of your wet pussy?”

And Stiles is fucking _aching_ for that. Sure, he may have female parts but he doesn’t have the right reproductive organs to actually carry out any pregnancy worries. The only thing that’s hindering that type of happy ending is the mess they’ll be making and it’s going to stay warm and sticky against his thighs during the two hour drive back to California.

“Do it,” Stiles stutters out in shambles. He’s so shameless right now that if Derek wanted to mount him like a pet in heat, he wouldn’t even bat an eye. “Deep inside me until I feel the warmth staining through.”

“Fuck,” Derek groans against his neck, digging crescents into the soft flesh of his ass. He’s jerking up into Stiles’ pussy with a meticulous rhythm, a _thrust, thrust, hips gyrate and then thrust, thrust, thrust_ —repeat. Stiles feels absolutely wrecked from the inside out. “Think you can come once more? Just sitting on my dick?”

“Maybe,” He hisses out when Derek jabs at that spot with a thrust, tightening his skin and making him heave for breath. “Don’t stop doing that. Just—right _there_. Oh, fuck, _yes_. Fuck me, _fuck._ ”

Then it’s absolutely brutal as Derek pistons against it, slamming the blunt of his cockhead directly onto his g-spot while Stiles swirls his hips to meet with each jerk up. He wants to weep at how stimulated he feels—probably write smut on this exact situation, detailing it precisely.

Derek starts making these shallow, grunting noises and it resonates deep inside Stiles’ chest while he pars him with a garble of choked up, wet sounds. He’s amazed how his friends are still actually asleep since Stiles is getting quite noisy and Derek seems to notice it because he clamps a hand around his mouth.

“Shh, don’t make a sound, babe.” Derek rasps and his voice is absolutely shattered, heaving. “M’close. Wanna fill you with my load until you drip all over me.”

Stiles holds tightly against Derek’s shoulder, hair starting to fall down and covering his eyes when the bus suddenly bumps roughly against an uneven road on  one of Derek’s thrust up that it sends Stiles front, hurling out a choked out sound.

“Oh fuck! Derek, please, don’t stop. Fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me_.”

Derek seems to make it his life goal to fuck the breath out of Stiles’ lungs because that’s what he does, chases the heat of his cunt until there’s nothing but the sensation of getting pummelled by the length of Derek’s cock, dickhead bashing against all the right dips of his pussy. The bus apparently starts to drive on one of those little pebble roads because it starts to vibrate, bumping every few seconds.

And fuck—Stiles _can’t_ —

He _gushes_ , the pressure of his fluid orgasm almost forcing Derek’s cock out from his cunt but Derek is nothing but determined and fucks up even harder until Stiles has completely ride out the bolting waves of his squirt. He’s heaving, panting and eyes dazed.

“Did you just—” Derek grits out, almost growling as he stares at his lap. “You got my dick _soaked_ , fuckin’ hell, Stiles. Jesus, m’gonna come for you.”

Stiles is so fucking out of it. All he feels is Derek tightening his hands against the globes of his ass, edging him all the way as he fucks shallowly through the spurts of his cock. He can’t feel the warmth festering inside him but there’s the stickiness of slick dribbling out from his entrance, feels the way Derek’s cock starts to soften inside him but still not pulling out.

“We’re a mess.” Stiles finally breathes out, voice snapped.

“I’ve got towels in my bag,” Derek answers slowly, nosing against Stiles’ cheekbone. “Christ, we could’ve been doing that for two years.”

Stiles chuckles lowly, “What was that term you called me? Jailbait, wasn’t it? At least I’m legal now. This pussy you’ve wrecked at least doesn’t get you sent into jail.”

“Probably,” Derek hums. “Your dad’s still the Sherriff, though. He’d probably throw me in a cell just for even looking at you wrongly.”

“Or rightly,” Stiles corrects him. “ _So_ rightly. I came my brains out. How are we even making words right now? I wanna die on you.”

“We’ve still got two hours left.”

Stiles licks his lips, “Or, maybe round two?”

Derek presses a kiss against his mouth, slow like they’ve got the world to stop spinning. “Yeah, definitely gonna hold your hand during that Avengers movie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so those of you who are following stardust (my latest wip, it's shotiles, so don't freak out) should know that I have terrible procrastinating habits. Just so happen that this 6k pwp came out of my in less than a day. I wish I could say that I was apologetic, even a little, but I'm not. I'll be away for the next week for vacation but I'll try to get a little bit of writing done on it. Till then, I hope this would settle you throughout the week.
> 
> Leave a comment/kudo if after reading this, you wanna have public bus sex! Because, I did, and by god... Hottest. Thing. Ever.


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